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Uh, yeah, okay. A.O.T.P. |
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E.S, Celph Titled. What up? Uh. |
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[Verse One] [Crypt The Warchild] |
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I solemnly swear, this is my testimony |
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I'ma keep it one hundred while the rest are phony |
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I'm wildin' out like suicide is my mission |
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I ain't tryin' to be crucified by the system |
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You should take heed, I advise you to listen |
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Watch me break knees, I'm surprisin' my victims |
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The question remains who am I when I'm spittin'? |
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It's me, the MC, I ain't no new edition |
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My mind's a coliseum, I spit diamonds that glisten |
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The beat is my journal where these lines will get written |
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Been through the garden, ate the fruit that's forbidden |
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So back the fuck up when I'm removin' my fitted |
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You could never walk in these shoes you don't fit in |
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Y'all all say your hot but that is just your opinion |
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Y'all can all die in the spot that you sit in |
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A.O.T.P., the underground has risen |
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[Chorus] [Planetary] [x2] |
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(All we do is spray) till the game come back |
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That's why we sittin' here building, spittin' flame on tracks |
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(So what you say) don't matter at all |
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So we gon' sit here and wait till God answer the call |
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[Verse Two] [Esoteric] |
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It's such a pity |
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Ain't nothing pretty |
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Lyrics bury cats under 150 tons of scum in the city |
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You say you poppin' bottles and stunnin' like Diddy? |
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But your pockets be flatter than a models stomach and tittes |
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While you frontin' like you rugged an gritty |
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Why I spit it so hot |
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Why I like Big L and Big Pun more than Biggie an Pac |
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I'm from that late 90's era where the Polo wasn't jig enough |
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A Gucci and Louie and Prada shit wasn't big enough |
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I would spit it ridiculous, stay on point like Rondo |
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Y'all bring up the rear like a J-Lo convo |
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No they don't want no beef, they all want their teeth |
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I may go Bronco, so lay low pronto chief |
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Four albums in a year, that's more than in your whole career |
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They all bang, battle? |
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I do more than end your whole career |
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So severe, beat you with a foldin' chair, listen |
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A.O.T.P.'s what the games missin' |
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[Chorus] [Planetary] [x2] |
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(All we do is spray) Till the game come back |
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That's why we sittin' here building, spittin' flame on tracks |
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(So what you say) Don't matter at all |
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So we gon' sit here and wait till God answer the call |
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[Verse Three] [Celph Titled] |
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Yo, yeah |
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Paper money |
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Know I wanna see that iron buck |
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They be robbin' hoods/Robin Hood, so I keep that fryer tucked/Friar Tuck |
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Try to have these props taken from me? |
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You end up red and blue like a female cop on they monthly |
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Dumpin' student body's in front of the student body, air em out |
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Beacon on my radar tellin' me where's ya whereabouts? (where?) |
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Magazine drums, have ya head bobbin' |
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Dead body nonstop noddin' downhill in a toboggan |
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Shoot the Uz through ya house in Honolulu (Ooh wow) |
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I'll throw a pineapple grenade at ya, (Luau) |
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Am I conceited? Oh yeah best believe it |
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Rap supervisor, pop up on lawns with fire arms |
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True surpriser |
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You'll be rockin an upside-down visor |
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And it won't be a wack fashion trend neither |
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More like Suge Knight/Vanilla Ice shit, hotel balcony danglin' |
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My monsoon is Tom Cruise Valkyrie famous |
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[Chorus] [Planetary] [x2] |
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(All we do is spray) till the game come back |
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That's why we sittin' here building, spittin' flame on tracks |
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(So what you say) don't matter at all |
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So we gon' sit here and wait till God answer the call |